Chapter 60 – Practical Considerations
“That went even better than I expected,” Eleuthera said happily as they emerged from the temple into bright afternoon sun.
“Did you know Lyse was going to Bless Orestis?” Eirene asked.
“No, that was completely unexpected. All I knew was that Lyse was going to give Maxim an earful—she’d been holding back for ages with that one.”
Orestis glanced over at the two of them, who were chatting as though the entire situation had nothing to do with them.
Well, technically, it didn’t—he would have actually preferred it if they were also inconvenienced. Eleuthera mostly, for being annoying overall. And maybe Eirene—just a tiny bit—for joining the goddess in eating popcorn.
“I have some errands to run for my father,” Orestis said to them. “I’m sure you two can find something to do on your own.”
Honestly, he should have gotten to it earlier, but random things kept coming up to distract him. And, he could take the time to work on Eirene’s gift.
Eleuthera brightened immediately. “Perfect! I have something I want to show Eirene.”
That level of enthusiasm would normally warrant caution, but Orestis didn’t have the energy to care. He had a textile merchant to visit, a birthday to plan, and a new divine patron to ignore.
And I’m reasonably certain she’s already used up her quota for me today—this should have nothing to do with me.
“Don’t cause any international incidents,” he said, and turned toward the harbour district.
“No promises!” Eleuthera called after him.
He had said it as a joke. Hopefully, she had been doing the same—one could never be sure when it came to her.
***
Finding Dalani took longer than expected—not because the man was hard to locate, but because the harbour district had reorganised itself since the last time his father had done business here. The textile quarter had migrated two streets east, displacing the chandlers, who had apparently been feuding with the dyers over drainage rights.
I only asked for directions, not a history lesson, Orestis thought, walking away from the street vendor.
Dalani turned out to be a lean man with the weathered hands of someone who had once handled the textiles he now traded in. His shopfront was modest—bolts of fabric displayed with functional neatness rather than artistry.
“Stathis?” he said when Orestis introduced himself. “Petros’s boy?”
“The same.”
“Heard good things. Come in.”
The conversation was straightforward. Dalani still handled bulk textile orders, still maintained connections across three port cities, and still remembered Petros as a man who paid on time and didn’t renegotiate after handshakes. The kind of reputation that outlasted everything except death.
They discussed terms, availability, and logistics. The meeting lasted twenty minutes and ended with a handshake and an agreement to correspond. It was simple and efficient. No gods, no curses, and no philosophical debates about positional symmetry.
He stepped out into the afternoon and considered his next task: Eirene’s birthday.
If there was to be a gathering, it should ideally be at her parents’ house. Which meant contacting her parents—without Eirene finding out.
He was familiar with the location of the Aretaios estate in Axiomera. Although, not to the point where he could teleport in blind. Besides, appearing unannounced would be rude.
So, usual practice—gate for visuals, then transfer to suitable location.
Since I’m supposed to be her Chosen, I might as well use Lyse’s power this time.
Orestis reached for her power—and found only a trickle available for his use. The divine equivalent of being handed a mug when he needed a bucket. He couldn’t open a gate with this amount. He could barely light a candle.
Alright, maybe I’m exaggerating about the candle. But this is woefully inadequate.
Time to lodge a complaint.
Through the mental link, Orestis sent a message to Lyse: What’s with this pitiful amount of divine power?
The reply came immediately: That is your allotment for your current rank.
And that was it. No further clarification.
He sent another message: How do you expect me to open a gate with this much?
She replied with: If you require a higher allocation, you will need to progress through the ranks. Now stop bothering me. I’m in the middle of Maxim’s correction.
Orestis rolled his eyes and dropped the link.
‘Correction’, she says.
He could almost picture her making the idiot kneel in a corner while she listed his transgressions. Likely in chronological order, cross-referenced by city and date.
Well, he’d lodged his complaint. No point wasting time on unreliable goddesses.
He drew from another god’s reservoir and began constructing the gate.
And immediately heard Lyse’s voice in his head, the telepathic message carrying a note of indignation: Why are you using another god’s power? Have you no sense of decorum!?
What do you expect? I need a gate, and your power is insufficient, Orestis sent back, continuing to shape the gate.
Lyse channelled her power through him and swatted away his half-formed sigils—the equivalent of a slap on the wrist.
Stop that. You are my Chosen. Using another god’s power reflects poorly on both of us, she sent.
Orestis sighed. This was why he didn’t want to be tied to a god.
He kept the thought to himself and instead sent: Then give me enough to open gates.
There was a pause. Then, the words heavy with reluctance, Lyse sent: Fine. You can have enough for gates. But you will need to make up for the additional expenditure. I keep precise accounts.
Of course she did—which was precisely the problem.
Orestis felt additional power trickle into the pool he had access to. It was just enough for one gate, and not a drop more—she had even calculated it to the minimum amount required for his height.
Being her follower is going to be a pain—I can already tell.
He briefly wondered if he should just break the bond—then dismissed the idea. It was still tolerable for now.
Besides, she’ll just recreate the bond again anyway.
Lyse was far too stubborn to do anything else.
He opened a gate high above Axiomera—just below the cloud line. The capital spread out below, prosperous and familiar. The Aretaios estate was not difficult to find; the property was one of the larger compounds in the merchant quarter, with a walled garden and a courtyard visible from above.
Orestis closed the gate and teleported to the public street adjacent to the estate’s front approach. The estate wall was well-maintained stone, high enough for privacy but not so high as to suggest paranoia. The gatehouse had two men in house livery, neither armed, but both alert.
Orestis approached without hurrying.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “My name is Orestis Stathis. I’m here to request a meeting with Lady Thaleia Aretaios, if she’s available.”
Thaleia is the one most likely to be home. Orestis would have to meet Lysandros as well—hopefully he was home, but it was far more likely that he was away on business.
The woes of operating from the main city.
The standing guard assessed him with a quick, practised sweep before saying, “One moment, sir.” Then, he stepped inside the gatehouse.
Orestis waited. The seated guard watched him with the professional neutrality of someone whose job was to remember faces.
The first guard returned. “Lady Aretaios will receive you. Please follow me.”
He was led through a well-kept courtyard. It was tastefully landscaped, giving him a few ideas for the house in Orthessa.
A steward met him at the main door and guided him to a sitting room where a low table was set with a tea service. Orestis noticed that the pot was still warm.
Thaleia entered a moment later. She was as he remembered—composed, unhurried, with eyes that assessed without judging.
“Orestis,” she said, with a warm smile. “This is unexpected.”
“Lady Thaleia. I apologise for the unannounced visit.”
“Not at all. Please, sit.” She settled into the chair opposite and poured tea without asking—a host’s instinct. “I confess to some curiosity. Eirene did not send word ahead that you’d be visiting.”
“Eirene doesn’t know I’m here.”
The tea paused mid-pour. Not dramatically—just a fractional hesitation. Then she continued, set the pot down, and handed him a cup.
“I see,” she said. “And the reason?”
“Her birthday is approaching. I’d like to arrange something for her. A surprise.”
Whatever she’d been expecting, it was not this. Her eyes widened a fraction, held for a moment, then her expression softened into a pleased smile. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ve actually been planning something myself.” She set her own cup down and leaned forward slightly. “What did you have in mind?”
He hesitated. This was the part he hadn’t fully worked out. “I’m not sure of the details. Maybe get everyone together for lunch?”
“Lunch sounds good,” she said, nodding. “Who were you thinking of inviting?”
“You and Lysandros, obviously.”
Who else would attend? It was her parents’ home. But wait—if the gathering was just Eirene’s parents, then Orestis was merely a messenger.
Should I invite myself?
No, that didn’t sound right. Orestis frowned.
Maybe invite Eleuthera as well? No, that sounded like a disaster in the making.
What if I suggest my parents? Would that be too presumptuous?
Thaleia smiled then. It was a kind smile—the kind that suggested she was about to help him with something he didn’t realise he needed help with.
Huh… it’s remarkably similar to Eirene’s expression.
“I’m assuming you want your involvement in the planning to be visible,” she said. “In that case, you should invite your parents as well.”
Well, that solves that problem.
And it made sense, too. If his parents were there, it became something he had put together. The effort would be evident.
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I can bring them.”
“I’ve already planned a dinner for that evening,” Thaleia continued. “If you bring her for lunch, the timing would come as a genuine surprise. She’d be expecting a quiet visit at most.”
That was true. Eirene would not anticipate a midday gathering at her parents’ house when she knew nothing had been arranged.
“Ah, even better—I could take her to my parents’ place first,” Orestis said, thinking it through. “She wouldn’t question that; we visit regularly. Then I can gate everyone here from there. She definitely wouldn’t be expecting it then.”
Thaleia looked pleased. “That would work beautifully.”
They settled the remaining details: timing, what to prepare, what not to prepare—Thaleia insisted on handling the food, which suited Orestis perfectly. One less thing to think about.
As they were wrapping up, Thaleia said, “Lysandros will be back this evening. He’d appreciate a word, if you have the time.”
Orestis considered his schedule. It’s not like he had anything else to do.
“I can return later,” he said. “I’ll visit my parents in the meantime.”
Thaleia nodded, looking satisfied. “Good. And Orestis—”
He looked up.
“Thank you for coming in person,” she said. “It means more than a letter would have.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he simply nodded and finished his tea.
***
“Shall I arrange a carriage to take you to Theramon?” Thaleia asked as she walked him to the front door.
Orestis shook his head. “No need. I can gate there directly.”
She paused. “Oh? I didn’t know you could do that.”
“The Consortium provided a supply of mana crystals,” he said. “I came up with a way to use them to construct gates.”
It was a reasonable explanation. He was known as an engineer of sorts. Implying he’d be using that method was better than telling her what he was actually using.
The moment the words left his mouth, however, Lyse’s voice cut through the mental link: You have mana crystals and you were thinking of using another god’s power?
Orestis barely suppressed a sigh and replied: Weren’t you busy getting the idiot to stare at a wall or something?
Oh. That’s not a bad idea actually, the goddess replied, her thoughts carrying intrigue and approval.
Then, the tone sharpened: Don’t change the subject. And I always keep a fraction of my attention on my Chosen—I am not someone negligent.
Of course she wasn’t. That was unfortunately the problem. He’d been hoping she would be distracted enough with Maxim to not pay attention to him at all—a futile hope, in hindsight. Lyse was far too meticulous about everything she did.
Meanwhile, Thaleia was nodding. “That’s convenient. It was good to see you, Orestis.”
He inclined his head, said his goodbyes, and stepped out through the courtyard. Lyse waited until he was past the gatehouse and back on the street before she resumed the argument.
Well? I’m waiting, she sent.
This time, Orestis did sigh. Thinking she would let it go had been simply too much to hope for.
He sent: Why would I waste a limited resource like mana crystals on a gate? There are far better things I could use them for.
Lyse was quiet for a moment. Then, grudgingly, she sent: That is a valid point. Wasting resources on a task that can be accomplished through other means would be inefficient.
Then she added: That doesn’t mean you can skip on the loan. Since you’re going to see your parents, bring them a gift. A genuine act of care toward family will count toward your balance.
She was quiet after that.
Orestis understood what she meant. To progress as her Chosen—and thus earn a higher allotment of her power—he needed to perform acts that aligned with her doctrine. Lyse’s domain encompassed the soul, among other things.
Apparently, being a good son qualifies as spiritual advancement, he thought wryly.
He didn’t consider arguing about it, since the idea itself was pretty good. And he knew exactly the gift to give his mother.
Orestis teleported to Eleuthera’s meadow—she always had the best-looking flowers.
“I’ll borrow a few,” he said out loud. He knew Eleuthera was watching since she still hadn’t stopped her habit of focusing on him when he drew on divine power.
You’d think she’d have gotten bored of it by now.
Orestis smiled.
The flowers can be considered payment.
He spent ten minutes selecting and arranging a bouquet for his mother.
As for his father’s gift, he remembered seeing a high-quality ink set while he was at the Low Market.
***
His mother opened the door before he could knock.
“Orestis! What a lovely surprise!” She pulled him into a hug with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t seen him in months rather than days. Which, in her case, meant trying to pick him up and rock him back and forth—never mind that she was incapable of actually doing so.
He smiled and endured it. “Mother.”
The rocking only happens when she is especially missing me. I suppose that means I should have visited yesterday.
She pulled back, spotted the flowers, and her face lit up. “Are those for me?”
“Yes.”
She took them, as well as his arm, and pulled them both into the house. “Petros! Orestis is here! And he brought me flowers!”
His father emerged from the study and greeted him with a pat on the shoulder—solid, brief, carrying more warmth than most people’s embraces.
“Good to see you,” his father said.
“Likewise. This is for you.” He took the package from his coat and handed it over.
His father looked surprised, but then nodded—pleased—after seeing the contents.
They settled into the sitting room. His mother produced pastries, dried fruit, cheese, and tea as though they had been prepared and waiting for this exact moment.
Orestis ate. Between bites, he explained his idea of a surprise lunch gathering for Eirene’s birthday at the Aretaios estate.
His mother’s hands came together and her expression brightened in a manner that Orestis found both gratifying and alarming.
That twinkle in her eyes is especially disturbing.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’m so proud of you,” she said, then turned to his father. “He’s being so thoughtful. He wasn’t like this before, was he, Petros?”
“Hm.” His father nodded, looking pleased as well. “Yes, she has been a good influence.”
Orestis decided to ignore them both.
His mother’s tendency to embellish reality was particularly pronounced today. Better to leave her to it—correcting them would only provide fuel. He would rather focus on the pastries; the honey ones were particularly good today.
His mother continued to construct theories with his father—trading looks and conclusions that owed more to her imagination than reality. Eventually, they ran out of material—as he’d expected them to.
That was when his mother turned to him and said, “So, aren’t you going to tell us which god blessed you?”
Orestis choked on the pastry.
If you’d like to read more, I’m 6 chapters ahead on Patreon, along with side chapters, author notes, and extra lore.